


A Figure of Dramatic Beauty

by z0inkssc00b



Category: Yandere Simulator (Video Game)
Genre: AU i guess?, M/M, No murder, Teen for language, just daily life at akademi i guess, might expand on it after i finish this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0inkssc00b/pseuds/z0inkssc00b
Summary: Enpitsu Byoga was only interested in drawing "beautiful" subjects. So, when he found an interest in the melodramatic Tsuruzo Yamazaki of the drama club, he wasn't surprised. He was, however, confused by new... feelings he experienced when he began speaking to the red-eyed actor. What they were and how to deal with them? Enpitsu had no clue.
Relationships: Tsuruzo Yamazaki/Enpitsu Byoga
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. The Merchant of Venice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enpitsu goes to see a play, has an inner monologue about the meaning of beauty, and finds something that sparks his interest.

"The Merchant of Venice"? An interesting choice for a school play, yet not unusual for Akademi's Drama Club.

Enpitsu turned the flyer he picked up over in his hands. Being a man of the arts, he wondered if this was worth any of his priceless time. He had never attended a school production before, seeing as he had nver been extremely intrigued by any; perhaps he should. Of course, it would feature Kizana Sunobu, an actress everyone with half a brain held in a high regard, as Portia, so it wouldn't be a _complete_ waste of his time. Plus, the artwork on the paper was in good taste: a simple image of a scale, with subtle, yet profound details of crosshatching and watercolor, which Enpitsu would not have thought of using, himself. He would have to get the name of the artist (though it was probably found online).

When was the performance scheduled? The ginger boy had to closely examine the backside of the flyer; it was formatted in a strange way of little blurbs here and there, so that information was difficult to pick up. The play was scheduled for 6 pm... that night? Enpitsu had to double check, but sure enough, it was exactly that night. (Odd; he was usually good at keeping up with news at the school.) Nevertheless, it appeared that he was out of the loop and "The Merchant of Venice" was seeing its final performance that evening.

Enpitsu took a moment to consider. His mother had told him that she'd take him to get more art supplies that night, but the odds of her remembering that were... slim, to say the least. His time was better spent seeing a high-quality production.

Mind made up, Enpitsu neatly folded the poster in half and tucked it in the breast pocket of his black and red school uniform. Classes had ended an hour ago, and the Art Club just a few minutes ago, so the boy decided he would leave and bide his time until the play began; maybe draw, or maybe not, since he was in _dire_ need of a new muse.

* * *

It was 5:40 pm when Enpitsu arrived back at the school, and the sun was already setting. He had hoped to arrive ten minutes earlier, but changing his outfit had proved to be more time-consuming than originally planned. Obviously, though, he couldn’t come in uniform; he’d look like he didn’t have a life out of his school, like he had no personality. Instead, Enpitsu had chosen an off-white button-up under blazer of a deep, royal blue color, which contrasted from his blazing orange hair and eyes. His pants and shoes, on the other hand, were a simple black, not wanting to draw attention away from the focus of his clothing. As an artist, Enpitsu knew all sorts of things about the use of color (though no one ever really commented on it). In fact, no one noticed Enpitsu at all as he made his way to the gym. A shame, the orange-haired boy thought, as he was looking exceptionally stunning that night. He passed crowds of buzzing students on the field, none of which paid him any attention. Bits of their conversations were audible, mostly about "Have you seen Kizana's performance?" or "Wow, Kizana's supposed to be really good in this one!"

"Did you see Kizana's outfit?"

"Damn, I'd let Kizana step on me any day!"

"D'you think I could convince Kizana to come... spend the night with me?"

Enpitsu couldn't help but roll his eyes at that last one. The speaker, Horo Guramu, was known to be _that type._ Enpitsu remembered being commissioned by the scientist to draw a picture of Akane Toriyasu, the most beautiful girl in school, and his reaction was telling of how he felt about her (and solidified Horo as one of Enpitsu's "disliked students").

It was a bit irritating, though, that the common student of Akademi High would talk about how "beautiful" a person was - they didn't actually comprehend beauty. All they did was look at a girl with big breasts and say "Wow! She's so pretty!"; without taking a moment to measure her facial features or judge her overall proportions, like Enpitsu did. _He_ should be the only person to say _anything_ about beauty! (Which he did. A lot.)

Enpitsu's bitter train of thought was interrupted when he arrived at the front of the auditorium. There were two fold-out tables next to the door, with two people sitting at each, selling tickets to the attendees. Enpitsu recognized the sellers as four members of the Cooking Club; apparently one of them was friends with a member of the Drama Club, which led to them doing mundane jobs such as this.

"Hello there! Are you here for the play?" asked a round-featured boy with chocolate hair and lime eyes. Enpitsu knew him as Shoku Tsuburaya.

"I can't think of another reason I'd be here," Enpitsu replied in his high-class (snobbish) voice as he looked down at the other boy.

"Right," said Shoku, clearly trying to maintain his polite and cheery disposition. "Well, that'll be fifteen dollars."

"Fifteen dollars? To see a school play?"

"Yep! It's really good, though. My friend's in it, and he thinks it's one of their better performances. Trust me, it's worth your money."

The brown-haired boy smiled cutely up at Enpitsu. The latter was irritated that he'd have to pay so much, but he'd already gone out of his way to come and dress nicely, so he decided that it'd just be more effort to argue. He reluctantly gave the money away, Shoku saying something sweet about his gratitude (not that Enpitsu was listening), and entered the gym.

The large room was bustling with even more students inside, making Enpitsu feel a tiny bit claustrophobic. He grabbed a playbill by the door and attempted to maneuver his way to the chairs in the center. Several people knocked into him before he was able to find a seat.

Checking his watch, Enpitsu saw that he still had ten minutes until the play started. He sighed and rubbed his temples; the loud atmosphere was making him feel impatient, and he had chosen to sit by a few Occult Club members, who were discussing some... bleak topics which made Enpitsu mildly uncomfortable. Shaking his head, he tried to block out the sounds badgering him.

Finally, the lights dimmed, and the curtain rose. Beautiful, classical music played as two men entered the stage, each with purple hair of different shades: one violet, one plum.

"In sooth, I know not why I am so sad: it wearies me; you say it wearies you; but how I caught it, found it, or came by it, what stuff 'tis made of, whereof it is born, I am to learn; and such a want-wit sadness makes of me, that I have much ado to know myself," the plum-haired boy declared to the room. His delivery quite good: it at least brought focus to the stage. The playbill stated that he was the merchant Antonio, played by Shozo Kurosawa.

"Your mind is tossing on the ocean; there, where your argosies with portly sail, like signiors and rich burghers on the flood, or, as it were, the pageants of the sea, do overpeer the petty traffickers, that curtsy to them, do them reverence, as they fly by them with their woven wings," replied the violet-haired one, his performance weaker and lacking compared to Antonio's, yet still acceptable. According to the playbill, he was Salarino, played by Riku Soma.

And so the play went on, and more characters were introduced: Salarino was politely written out and Soma took the character of Bassanio, suitor to Portia; Tokuko Kitagawa was introduced as Jessica, daughter of a referenced “Shylock” character; and finally, there was Kizana Sunobu as Portia, the wealthy and intelligent heiress. Enpitsu couldn’t help but be taken aback by her stunning performance - she’d only had a few lines so far, but she was the most convincing character of the cast.

She was also rather beautiful. Her features were small and well-defined, but also remarkably regal. Thin, crimson eyes rested in her face, sharp and smart; then they were gently caressed by vibrant, amethyst hair, like it was silk. Though not as Enpitsu himself, Kizana Sunobu wouldn’t be bad as a subject to paint.

"...Whiles we shut the gates upon one wooer, another knocks at the door," Portia finished her monologue, and scene two ended to loud applause. Yet again, Enpitsu overheard whispered comments about Kizana's figure, which he didn't hesitate to shush. He just wanted to watch the play, not listen to some losers' perverted ideas.

The curtain opened again, and two boys entered the stage. One was Bassanio, and the other...

Enpitsu stopped.

"Three thousand ducats, well," started the new actor, long hair a wonderful shade of lilac and eyes a shocking ruby. All of his features were strongly defined yet delicate, like a subtle note on the winds of a hurricane. He had the nose of a Greek sculpture; soft, gentle lips like roses; and the slim, feminine body of a dancer. Every time he moved, a new part of him shined. He (literally) glittered. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but the mysterious actor sparkled in anything he did. Enpitsu knew what it was though: this man was simply beautiful.

The performance continued, and the actor absolutely took Enpitsu's breath away. He enraptured his entire attention for two whole acts. It was simply impossible to stop thinking about his gorgeous face.

Despite this, as Act Three progressed, the actor found a way to wrap Enpitsu even tighter around his finger.

"...Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?" he half-shouted, full of raw emotion, capturing all of the energy of the theater and making it his own. His monologue proceeded, Enpitsu holding onto every word that slipped from his mouth like his life depended on it. His voice was ornately melodious and it was just too easy to listen to everything he said.

This beautiful voice filled Enpitsu's ears like music while the performance finished, distracting him from all else. The rest of the play was unimportant if **He** was onstage. Even Kizana was sub-par compared to the man, both in acting and appearance.

But who was he?

Enpitsu remembered seeing him around school, but he hadn't really paid too much attention to him. It was difficult to notice his stunning appearance without stage lights illuminating all angles of his perfection. The artist knew that he was loud and obnoxious, having a habit of speaking in a melodramatic fashion. Not that that mattered; all that did was his absolute beauty.

He flipped through the pamphlet. Shylock was played by a... Tsuruzo Yamazaki? That name did ring a bell. Its elegance matched him perfectly.

Enpitsu folded up the booklet and stashed it in his pocket. He knew that he'd want it later, something to remember that night by.

"...Well, while I live I’ll fear no other thing, so sore as keeping safe Nerissa’s ring," finished Soma, and the final curtain closed. After a few moments, it opened again for the actors to give their bows, and Enpitsu passionately led the standing ovation. For a moment, he thought that he saw Tsuruzo look his way. Strangely, his body tensed and he felt a jolting sensation in his stomach. It immediately subsided when he realized that none of the actors had noticed him, but he still was confused at the feeling he experienced. He didn't understand what it was, nor what caused it; he'd never felt anything like that before. He-

"U-um, ex-excuse me."

Enpitsu was jolted from his trance, realizing that he was standing and looking at his hands for quite a few minutes, not saying anything. He quickly tucked his arms behind his back.

"What?" he turned to the voice, finding that it was a boy with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes: a member of the Occult Club, Shin Higaku.

"M-my friends a-and I would l-like to get through..." Shin explained in a whisper-like voice, looking at the ground.

"Oh. Fine; I was leaving anyway." Enpitsu didn't wait to quickly slip out of their way and then the gym.

He smelt the crisp, night air and felt the brisk wind on his skin; students talking all around him. Not that he was listening, his face was still warm with awe and head filled with thoughts of Mr. Tsuruzo Yamazaki.

Enpitsu felt wonderful. He felt blessed. Inspired.

He turned and left the school, still absolutely amazed.

Tonight had definitely _not_ been a waste of his time.


	2. Enpitsu's Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enpitsu has a new muse, and the Art Club can't seem to stop asking questions.

It had been three days since the school play's last showing. The performance received nothing but praise, specifically for the deliveries of the numerous monologues.

Which, of course, Maka didn't really pay too much attention to as she entered the Art Club's room. It was so quiet, that she assumed she was the first person there.

"Hello, Art Room! Nice to see you today!" she greeted in her cheery voice. She always loved to say "hi" to the room, since it seemed no one else appreciated it. It was Maka's duty to stop it from being neglected.

"Hello, Maka," an unexpected, flat voice replied, making Maka jump. She turned her head, and saw a boy with hair red as a tomato writing something on the chalkboard. She must not have noticed him. That wouldn't be hard, of course, seeing as he was infamously silent.

"Oh! Sorry! I didn't see you there, Geiju!"

Geiju didn't look up from what he was writing.

"It's fine."

The teal-haired girl took in the scent of paint around her, and dropped off her bag by her easel. She was excited to start painting.

"Where is everybody else?" Maka asked. Geiju's rule was that no one could begin their art before all of the members showed up, so he could take minutes and do a bunch of technical stuff (Maka didn't get it).

"Not here."

"I mean, yeah, I know _that_. Why aren't they here?"

"Too early."

"How early?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Really?"

After checking the clock, Maka found that she was, in fact, noticeably early.

"Whoops! Sorry! I just had to come and greet the room. You get it, right?"

No response.

"I knew you'd understand." Often times, Maka ended up having one-sided conversations with Geiju. He was easy to talk to, since he barely reacted to anything, so being judged wasn't something to worry about. The girl talked to him about all sorts of things, ranging from her favorite types of pencils to why orcas were only the third best type of whale (the teeth were cool but the black and white coloring was a bit much).

Halfway through Maka's explanation about how she microwaved a can of green beans and lived to tell the tale, she heard the door open again. A dark, edgy boy with blood-red eyes and hair of ebony entered and glared at Maka.

"Borupen! Hi!"

Maka waved at Borupen, who groaned back at her.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply, throwing his books at the corner of the room.

"How are you?"

"Terrible. As always."

"Aw, really? Why-"

"S-SORRY I'M LATE!"

A short girl with sea-blue hair stumbled into the room, black beret almost falling off her head. Borupen rolled his eyes at her.

"What’s wrong, Efude?" Maka inquired, concerned. "Did you get lost?"

"N-no. I just got held after class for doodling Magical Pretty Girl Miyuki on my notes." Efude pouted and dropped her bag. "Geiju, you weren’t gonna start without me, were you?"

Geiju shrugged.

"Jesus Christ, _shut up_. You’re two minutes late. Nobody cares," Borupen snapped, irritation written all over his face.

"I care! What if I got kicked out of the club?"

"You wouldn’t get _kicked out of the club_. As much as I hope you would, you’re here too much to actually be thrown out. Hell, Enpitsu hasn’t been here the past three days, but he’s still a member."

"Yeah, I guess you’re right... wait, that reminds me, where’s Enpitsu been? I haven’t seen him in a while."

"Oh, he’s here. I see him hanging around the gym sometimes. He probably just decided that he’s ‘too important’ or ‘too pretty’ to talk to us. Some kinda pedantic shit; you’ve met him."

"No, that’s wrong!" Maka exclaimed. "Enpitsu is our _friend!_ Just cuz he hasn’t been coming doesn’t mean he’s ditched us altogether!"

"The guy doesn’t like to be seen around us, Maka. He doesn’t give a shit."

"But-"

"Have either of you guys talked to him?" Efude was clearly trying to steer the conversation away from the impending argument. "Borupen, you said you saw him in the halls?"

"You honestly think I talk to Enpitsu when I don’t have to?"

"I mean, I talked to him," Maka said. "I asked him why he hasn’t been coming. But it was weird; he just kinda shrugged and said he was busy. He’s been sketching a whole lot more, lately, too. Like when he’s walking and everything. He doesn’t really look up too much. Did I mention that?"

"No."

"Anyways, I didn’t get to look in his sketchbook. He didn’t talk to me for that long, he seemed like he had somewhere to be. Also, I don’t really seem him hang around the gym that much, normally. Wonder what that’s about?"

"Maka, for the love of God, can you talk about one topic for five seconds before switching to your next one?"

"I’m just telling you the story." Maka crossed her arms with a "hmph", to which Borupen rolled his eyes.

"Geiju, can't we just start? This is getting nowhere."

Maka jumped when she noticed that Geiju had been standing there the entire time. Creepy.

Right before he could answer, though, the door opened, and a sketching, ginger boy entered. He glanced up at everyone staring at him, and then quickly back down to what he was working on. A few last lines were finished, and his expression changed, seemingly judging his work. Content, he closed the leather book and dropped his arms to his sides.

"You finally showed up, huh?" Borupen sighed.

"I did," Enpitsu responded, tucking his sketchbook into his jacket. "What's wrong?"

"You were missing the entire week," Efude said. "Where were you?"

"Busy."

Maka shot Borupen an "I told you so" look.

"You're late," Geiju stated. Irritation was almost noticeably creeping at the edges of his monotone voice.

"Yeah, but I'm _here_. Besides, it doesn't look like you guys have started yet." Enpitsu ran a hand through his hair carelessly, despite the fact that his club leader did not look amused. Maka thought, for a second, he was going to get mad at him, but he just blinked.

"Okay. Begin."

The Art Club took out their supplies and changed into their smocks, all the while Maka observed Enpitsu being distant and distracted by... something. Every question she asked, though, he batted down or avoided. Even as they began painting, the redhead was simply... weird.

* * *

"We're done," Geiju announced, a few hours later. Everyone started to put their supplies away.

"So, Enpitsu..." Maka leaned towards her club-mate, taking off her smock. "You've been sketching a lot, lately."

Enpitsu only glanced at her. "I always sketch 'a lot'."

"Yeah, but I've never seen you walk down the hallway sketching. I'm not sure I've seen you take a break this week, other than now. Have you been eating?"

" _Of course I've been eating._ I've just- I haven't been able to stop thinking about-" Enpitsu paused, seemingly rethinking his approach. "I've just been busy, you know."

"I don't. What have you been sketching? You've been around the gym a lot, right? Have you been sketching something there?" Maka gasped. "Have you been sketching the kitten?"

"Wha- no, no, I haven't been sketching the kitten. It's cute, but not beautiful enough to be worth my time. I've been sketching... nothing, really."

"C'mon, Maka, you and I both know he's drawing himself; he doesn't actually draw anything else. His narcissism’s just acting up again. Leave him alone," Borupen butt in spitefully.

"Yes... they were self-portraits. All of them. That's what I've been drawing. That's why I've been missing." Enpitsu looked away, busying himself with cleaning. Maka knew that he was lying, but it didn't seem like he was going to open up anytime soon. She just continued putting away her supplies.

Not ten minutes later, the Art Room was clean of excess supplies. Not to say it was clean of all mess, because it was _never_ clean. At least everyone tried their best.

As the club prepared to leave, Maka noticed Enpitsu reaching into his jacket. He pulled out the sketchbook that Maka kept seeing him with, then inspecting the pages, one by one.

"Hey, Enpitsu, what'cha got there?" She tried poking her head over his shoulder to see what he was looking at, but he snapped it shut.

"My sketchbook. Why?" His tone was icy and defensive, contrasting from his warm-colored appearance.

"Ooo! Can I see?"

" _Absolutely not!"_

Everyone stared at Enpitsu, who’s face had gone a ripe crimson.

“I-it’s- um- you can’t look,” he stammered, evidently attempting to regain his composure. “U-unfinished.”

After a moment of strangling tension, he lunged for the door, but Borupen stopped him.

“What are you- Borupen!”

“Wherever are you going, Enpitsu?” Borupen asked, in the sickly sweet tone that one uses when they want to appear innocent when their intentions are not. “I think that you have an awful lot on your chest that you need to talk about.”

Enpitsu sighed. “What?”

“Let’s talk about your new sketches.”

“No! W-why do you care?”

“Because now that I know you’re embarrassed about it, I need to know so I can use it later.”

“What the hell?!

“L-look, you guys, it’s nothing. Really, it’s just some… self portraits, and the like.”

“Then show us.”

“I-I said no!”

“C’mon, Enpitsu, you gotta tell us now,” Efude said. “You’ve made a big thing about it, so you have to at least explain.”

“I-”

“Is it a whale?” Maka guessed. “I like whales. They look like dolphins but bigger.”

“What?”

The three clubmates crowded Enpitsu, asking question after question. He tried his best to protest, but they kept interrogating him.

Finally, the artist saw an opening, and-

“Geiju!”

The club president swiped the book from his hands and observed the contents with the same, unreadable expression on his face. Enpitsu was burning up, but didn’t say anything.

Everyone looked expectantly at Geiju as he flipped through the crisp pages. After a few seconds, he placed it down.

“Good shapes. Vary subject.”

Maka was the first to rush and snatch it up.

She opened it and found a beautiful sketch of a lean, sharply-featured boy. He had long hair, pulled into a spiral, which rested on his shoulder. Clearly Enpitsu had given the image lots of time and passion, as it was expertly drawn and shaded; every detail profound yet subtle.

Maka flipped to another page. There was a similar picture of that man in a different pose.

Another page. Another image of the handsome drilled-boy.

Again.

Again.

Again.

“...Enpitsu, did you just fill your sketchbook with this… beautiful, slim-waisted man?” Maka asked.

“I-I… he…” Enpitsu failed to get words out.

Borupen sighed loudly. “Is  _ this  _ what you’ve been embarrassed about? Seriously?”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you made a huge deal out of it, for what? A crush? I thought you actually did something embarrassing.”

“H-he’s not a crush! He’s a muse.  _ My  _ muse.”

“But I thought Akane was your muse. And yourself,” Maka said, handing the book back to its owner. 

“Oh, please. I have enough paintings of Akane and myself to fill a studio. I was in a creative rut; nothing beautiful to capture and immortalize. But then I saw…  _ him.” _

“Isn’t he that irritating guy from the drama club?” asked Borupen. “The one that never shuts up?”

“It’s Yamazaki. Tsuruzo.”

“Oh yeah! I think he’s in Geiju’s class,” Efude added.

Geiju nodded.

“Can I go now? You’ve all already harassed me enough, and found out my secrets. Anything else?”

“But I have so many questions!” Maka exclaimed. “When did this happen? How long have you known? Have you ever talked to him? Who-”

But Enpitsu was already gone, and with him, the drama that everyone was so interested in.

Everybody filtered out and went their separate ways, finished with caring about Enpitsu and his infatuations.

But Maka wasn’t done.

Oh, she definitely wasn’t done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG!! Look, this took f o r e v e r to get out, I'm so sorry! There's been a lot of stuff happening in my personal life, but here it is! I've written a second chapter! Hopefully next updates won't be so long. I hope you liked it!


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